


The Legacy Variations

by Shadow_Chaser



Series: Adagio for Tron [3]
Category: Tron (Movies), Tron: Betrayal, Tron: Legacy (2010), Tron: The Next Day (2011)
Genre: Alternate Scenarios, Alternate Universe, Because I have a fierce admiration for Bruce Boxleitner, Earn Your Happy Ending (sort of), Gen, Mostly Tron and/or Alan-centric one-shots, Not Tron: Evolution compliant, Not Tron: Uprising compliant, Of the various ways Alan and Tron meet usually ends with Alan wanting to strangle Clu, Post-Tron: Legacy, world of badass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 11:46:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2023911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Chaser/pseuds/Shadow_Chaser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Variations of a beat, never the waltz of war, rebellion, peace.  One variation there was the realization of betrayal, in another variation, a different User falls into the Grid.  So many variations, so many infinite possibilities – even the Adagio may change keys, minor or major.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scenario 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Redact](https://archiveofourown.org/works/537263) by [infiniteviking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteviking/pseuds/infiniteviking). 



> This is a series of Alternate Universe one-shots that takes place within my _Adagio for Tron_ series as well as _Tron: Legacy_ and _Tron: Betrayal_. Both _Uprising_ and _Evolution_ scenarios are not mentioned or alluded to – since I've actually never played the game or watched the animated series. Title is from the _Stargate Altantis_ episode "The Daedalus Variations."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not Sam who falls into the Grid, but Alan who answers the page. In there, Rinzler's programming begins to fragment.

_Scenario 1_

 

 

 _**Command Line:** _ _Activate Rinzler._

 _**Command Receipt:** _ _Awaiting command._

 _**Command Line:** _ _Games, Disc Wars._

 _**Command Receipt:** _ _Understood. Protocol query._

 _**Command Line:** _ _Derezzing of all losers. No change._

 _**Command Receipt:** _ _Understood. Black Guards at optimal capacity._

 _**Command Line:** _ _Your sarcasm is not welcomed, Rinzler._

 _**Command Receipt:** _ _[unintelligible electronic feedback]_

 

He fought, that was what he was good at. That was what he was created for. He ignored the random feedback and error messages he received from some of his runtimes and command lines. It was of no consequence to him. Nothing mattered except for the commands he received from Clu and defeating the opposition.

 

 _**Scan Query:** _ _Error 404. Unable to scan. Suggest intimidation._

 _**Command Protocol:** _ _Amateur program, attempted escape from Games._

 _**Scan Query:** _ _Armor profile._

 _**Visual Profile:** _ _Static._

“ _I've uploaded the file to your disc, make sure you get it into the heart of the MCP to stop him-”_

 _**Command Protocol:** _ _Gravity fluctuations resulted in multiple strikes against program. Program retaliated with additional hardware, no data chips fallen._

 _**Command query:** _ _Why did I strike so many times and not give serious injury?_

 _**Command Protocol:** _ _Program influencing processes, potential corruption to processes resulting in anger, extrapolation of remnant betrayal._

 _**Scan Query:** _ _Error 404. Possible upgrade needed to scanners._

 _**Visual Profile:** _ _Armor profile match._

 _**Scan Query:** _ _Match armor profile- ERROR, ERROR-_

 **Command Protocol** : _Trapped. Deresolution imminent-_

 

He looked towards the wound given in the short fight and saw the red liquid drop to the ground, the program pinned underneath his discs grimacing in pain. He noted the lined, _aged_ , face; how it looked so familiar-

 

 _**Scan Query:** _ _Blood._

 _**Identification Protocol:** _ _User._

 _**Search Query:** _ _User._

 _**Search Return:** _ _Unable to complete query. Error. Error. Error. Error._

 

“User…” Rinzler resisted the urge to shake his head against the constant droning of the error messages and misfires of processes that his search query had gotten through his own command lines and processes. He hated when that happened and it only served to increase his anger at his own dysfunction. Clu had created him to be a fighter, and yet here he was misfiring on just the simplest of commands.

However, he could not help but shake the feeling that he knew what a User was. A new type of program?

 

 _**Search Query:** _ _User, Clu, display results._

 _**Search Return:** _ _False deity who enslaved The Grid. Any claiming allegiance with Users brought to Clu before placement in Games._

 

Rinzler hauled the program up roughly to his feet, spinning him so that he faced Clu’s command carrier. Protocols demanded that Clu examine this…User. But the error messages were screaming at him, making him twitch and shake while he tried to keep an iron grip on this User.

 

 _**Audio Scanner:** _ _Approval drop in Games-_

 _**Command Protocol:** _ _Approval drop noted, ignore._

 

“Identify yourself, program,” Jarvis’ sycophantic voice boomed across the mostly silent Arena.

 

 **Command protocol:** Falsehood. False, false, false – error, errOR, ERRor, ERROR-

 

“ _Lie_ ,” the words felt like they were dragged from deep within as he shook, tried to tamp down on the error messages, tried to stop his processes from overclocking because there was something _wrong_. He saw the not-program shoot a quick look at him.

“Identify!” Clu had stood up and towered over them as Rinzler suddenly felt a shooting lighting strike of anger-

“ _Lie!_ ”

“I’m not a program,” the voice was exhausted, but strong, the lie clear on his lips, “my name is Roy Kleinberg.”

 

 _**Command Protocol:** _ _ERROR! ERROR! ERROR! ERR-_

 _**Visual Protocol:** _ _Static._

“ _Please, my -static- is calling for me! -static-lan-One is calling for me-”_

 

 _**Command Protocol:** _ _ERROR! ERROR!_

 _**Visual Protocol:** _ _Static._

 _The disc rose high into the I/O port and he smiled. It was his User,_ his _, User. And he could not help but feel he was staring at the light of his Maker-_

 

 _**Command Protocol:** _ _ERROR! ERROR! Override. Maker, notRoyKleinberg, Maker, User…_

 _**Command Line:** _ _-nzler! Rinzler! Report!_

 _**Command Receipt:** _ _Process interrupted, reporting as requested._

 _**Command Line:** _ _I already told you; escort the User up to my carrier._

 _**Command Receipt:** _ _Understood._

 _**Command Protocol:** _ _Error! ERROR! User...Alan-One._

 _**Override Protocol:** _ _Escape._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers of my _Tron: Adagio_ story may recognize this as cribbing Chapter 19 – Arrival with the whole Rinzler thing. I took it from there and applied a spin on it using Alan in place of Sam.


	2. Scenario 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Alan entered the Grid after the page, and got captured. Featuring bad-ass!Alan and allusions to _Tron: Adagio_ (exception of a few tweaks regarding Alan and his knowledge of Flynn's Grid activities).

_Scenario 2_

 

They were going to die on the Gaming Grid, that much was for sure.

How they were going to die was another question, but Alan had no doubts of what Clu planned for him and Sam once he had figured out he had the son of Kevin Flynn – the son of the Creator, the son of the God Almighty of the Grid – as his prisoner. Alan was only lucky he had hastily introduced himself as Richard Mackey instead of his real name as his own creation held him prisoner, iron grip on his arm. That grip was shaking, too minute to be noticed – at least that was the hope Alan had – Clu too occupied by baiting Sam and reveling in the glory of the trap he had set for Kevin Flynn.

They stood by the edge of the carrier as Clu's sycophantic lackey whose name Alan never learned, presented his master with a simply elegant case that held two long objects that looked like batons. Alan watched as Clu picked up, noting how the once dimmed lights on it suddenly glowed yellow before the program edged towards Sam and he plucked the other.

“What's this?” Sam growled, holding the baton like one would before activating a lightsaber, “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Let me give you a clue,” the sycophantic program replied his voice full of disdain, “not _that_.”

The arena twittered in laughter and Alan gritted his teeth as he looked around, wanting nothing more than to _do_ something. He saw Sam shoot him a quick look as he realized that Alan was not getting a baton and was more than likely to be paraded back up into the carrier to be held hostage. It was a clear warning for Sam to either throw the latest game or to ensure that if Kevin Flynn did not even care about his own son, there was still 'Richard Mackey' to hold as a hostage, a User. He had considered introducing himself as Roy Kleinberg, but did not want to subject his friend's name to _this_.

“Grid active...” the melodious voice of whatever program had been written to announce the Gaming Grid started up and Alan found the iron grip tugging at him forcibly.

He considered for a very brief second to fight that grip again before he realized Clu was actually going to _be_ on the Gaming Grid himself and not in the carrier... And willingly followed the small contingent of guards that had followed them down from the carrier, the sycophantic program that bowed to Clu's every order, and Rinzler, up the stairs. He caught Sam's eye for a brief moment as Clu rezzed his lightcycle beyond them and shook his head a little. Sam blinked before looking towards Clu and a tight smile appeared on his face. Alan hoped that the kid got the message to not do anything stupid until he had run of the carrier or made his escape plan. His only problem was to potentially overpower Rinzler and get to an access panel of sorts so he could start rewriting things, but was not too sure about how it worked.

Kevin had never really explained his Grid and Alan had to admit, he had not exactly paid much attention during some of his best friend's ramblings. But seeing how Clu manipulated and operated objects and things at least gave him the hope that maybe Users could do the same – though he never really had the chance to test it. He knew of the story of the Clu program and ventured to guess that it probably had the highest access in the Grid without being a sys admin – a User. Alan doubted that Sam realized what a User really was within a computer system – especially after listening to Kevin's story about his time in the ENCOM servers – but he had been hoping to perhaps test Kevin's theories out.

Clu being out on the Grid was the perfect opportunity, and the only threat was probably Rinzler. Alan had no doubts that he probably was considered a guest admin User and without full access as a sys admin. But there were still one or two hacks he knew from the heyday that could throw Kevin Flynn for a loop and if this was his own work, then, well, he wouldn't feel too bad screwing up the Grid in order to escape and live.

He felt the carrier start to ascend again as Rinzler's grip shoved him forward on a march, all the way to where Clu had appeared before them and gloated over his victory from Kevin Flynn. The observation deck was really spacious, but the blood-red glow it exuded made Alan feel like he was in a horror show dungeon that was just waiting for blood to be spilled. He was getting too old for this- And snapped out of his thought as the door suddenly hissed closed behind him, cutting off a startled shout from the sycophantic program that had tried to follow them in.

Alan suddenly found himself spun around and shoved painfully against the door, as Rinzler activated his discs and held both of them close to his throat. He dared not move as the buzzing sound of the discs made him swallow involuntarily, but he otherwise kept still, wondering if he was going to be executed now. He had hoped that maybe Clu would have dangled them like bait, but if Rinzler had been given the command to kill him-

“ _You...lie_...” the deadly program forced out through its stutter, like a severely overclocked hard drive.

“Excuse me?” he hissed out, daring not to raise his voice for the fear of getting skewered by one of buzzing discs.

“ _Not...RichardMackey..._ ” Rinzler's bullet-shaped black helmet reflected what he was seeing, but Alan thought he saw a flash of _eyes_ behind that opaque helmet, pain-filled eyes. “ _...Lies..._ ”

“Why does it matter to you, huh?” Alan wondered how did the program figure out he was lying. Clu had seemed to believe, but then again, Clu had been paying more attention to Sam than to him.

Silence save for the stuttering sound answered him and Alan could hear the revving of lightcycles and explosions outside. Then one word emerged from the stuttering noise, “... _Please_...” At the same time the buzzing sound of the discs disappeared and Alan found himself breathing in heavily as Rinzler weight lifted just a bit off of him and stared at the program, rubbing his throat absently.

“Alan Bradley,” he finally said, staring at the program as it suddenly froze in place, the stuttering noise growing louder and louder. He wondered if he had crashed Rinzler, wondered if this was his opportunity to escape-

Before he suddenly found the two discs the program held shoved violently towards him, not cutting into him, but dropping so suddenly into his hands that he fumbled for a second before Rinzler shook his head wildly and collapsed to the ground. Alan could only stare for a moment at what had just happened, his mind blanking on the scene in front of him before he saw it.

Underneath the bullet-like helmet, hidden by the point of the helmet and by how much Rinzler hunched forward like a predator on a constant hunt, were three small squares across, with one tiny fourth square just underneath the middle square. It formed a small 'T' if you will...and Alan's eyes widened as he remembered the stories, the description, _everything_ about what Flynn had said about his security program, his Tron. He had thought Tron to have disappeared after ENCOM upgraded its servers, had mourned the loss of one of his more well-written programs, but had moved on. But if Tron was here...

“...Tron?” he ventured quietly, but the program did not respond and Alan stared at the discs in his hands before shakily activating them as he knelt on the ground.

He saw it then, the lines of code, the brief distorted image of both Tron and of the bullet-helmet of Rinzler. He could see the brutal lines of hacks, destruction, and corruption of code that was lined with yellow and angry reds, no doubt whatever Clu did to him to turn him into Rinzler. The discs were proof that Rinzler was Tron...that Clu had viciously hacked into him, corrupted him, turned him into...into...

“I'm going to kill him,” Alan muttered as he glanced outside the observation window to see that only Sam and one more program on his team were left. He quickly went through the code, ripping out the ones that made him obey Clu without even a protest and fixed some of the coding so that Tron would at least function on a more basic level, but knew that when he escaped, he would have to comb through the layers to get at everything and rebuild his program. “I'm going to kill that son of a bitch...” he muttered as he did what he could and closed the discs up before mashing the two together, his instinct linking the two together before hurrying over to his unmoving program and put it back on its mount.

The reaction was immediate as Rinzler convulsed, his form twitching as his lines bled red, white, and yellow. A few seconds passed before what was left was a sickly looking line of red-orange with edgings of white, but he sat up and looked at him with the bullet helmet still on.

“Tron?” Alan knelt beside him and saw his program slowly nod, lifting his hands up to stare at his own colors and answered the unspoken question, “it's only a quick fix, but any command Clu gives you, you can ignore now. I've only patched basic function for you and left most of your current programming alone, but we need somewhere safe-”

“ _Follow_ ,” the stuttering was still there, but it sounded a lot less like an overclocked hard drive and Alan heard – rather eerily – his own voice underneath the words now. He took the program's hand, feeling rather protective of him since finding out who he really was, and was a little surprised to see Tron grab a small pack from a stand, strap it to his back before reaching behind him and wrapped his other hand around him.

Alan realized what Tron was going to do and started to shake his head in protest, “No, wait, Tron-”

He closed his eyes against the sudden burst of digital glass as they leaped out of the carrier and into open air before the sudden jolt of something catching in the air. He opened his eyes again to see four petal-like things sprouting from whatever pack Tron had strapped onto himself and the ground slowly rushing up to them.

He could definitely hear the roll of surprise run through the arena as something else roared beyond the engines of the lightcycles. It was punctuated suddenly by screams and the Gaming Grid program saying, “Illegal combatant on the field. Illegal combatant on the field.”

Alan and Tron landed a little heavily onto the lightcycle arena and Alan looked up to see a four-wheel version of the lightcycles, looking more like a heavy-duty ATV, screeching towards them, Sam in the front seat with a helmeted driver at the wheel. Something shifted within the four-wheeler and Alan could see that additional seats were being rezzed into existence. The higher pitched buzz behind the small cloud of dust and debris behind the four-wheeler made him peer beyond it to see Clu's yellow lightcycle chasing them along with two more orange-colored cycles with guards on them.

“Come on!” Sam was close enough for Alan to hear him shout, but he stepped to the side, hearing the sudden upward tick of stuttering in Tron's filters and unhooked his disc. Even though his eyesight was back to 20/20 in the Grid, his glasses long gone from where he received his armor and disc, he still squinted as he activated the disc.

“Alan! What-”

The trajectory was far, but Alan had made better shots in disc golf in his leisure time and regular golf through corporate events. The disc was a little lighter than what he would have used for disc golf, but it would do. He threw it, watching it arc and curve just behind the four-wheeler as it came to a screeching halt near them.

“Alan, your disc-”

Sam never finished what he was saying as Clu's lightcycle suddenly tumbled end-over-end, dumping the program to the ground in a spectacular wreck that made even the two orange-colored guards pause and slow down in their cycles. Alan allowed himself a grim smile as he reached up and caught his returning disc, meeting Sam's stunned gaze with a crooked smile.

“Holy...”

“Let's go,” he hopped into the backseat, wincing a little at the pull of old muscles in his hip and legs that he had not used in a long time.

“Uh-”

Alan realized that Tron had not even moved from where he was standing in the arena, and saw the tense body language of the driver of the four-wheeler and Sam's hesitant look. “Tron,” he put as much authority into his voice and saw his program snap to look at him the worrying stuttering sound returning to its quiet levels. He realized that Tron had been worried earlier when he had unhooked his disc, apparently thinking that he was going to fight. “Get in.”

“Alan-”

“Clu turned him into Rinzler, but that's _my_ program and I'll be damned if I'm leaving him here,” he glared at both the faceless driver and Sam, daring them to contradict what he was saying as Tron woodenly climbed into the other seat next to him and sat down, the stuttering noise quiet and rhythmic even though he was clearly in distress about the whole thing.

The driver tilted its head once in acknowledgment before speaking as gears shifted, “Hang on.”

Alan knew he was way too old for this as soon as he felt the vehicle squeal its tires again and whipped around as if going on a roller coaster. He grasped the edges of the vehicle as they sped off, pursued now by the two lightcycles who revved into gear and chased after them. The driver punched a button and Alan and Sam looked back to see two blinking objects drop from behind, rolling towards the pursuing lightcycles before exploding, derezzing both programs. Turning back around, he saw two missile-like things fly from the front of the vehicle and blow holes into the wall of the arena.

“Wait, wait! You're not going to make it!” Sam gripped the dashboard and Alan almost did the same as they drove out of the arena, into the open canyon-gap of air-and landed heavily onto dusty, rough ground and continued on their way.

“Made it,” the driver's cheek was evident before her helmet retracted and Alan blinked, surprised at the youthful face that greeted them. “I'm Quorra,” she introduced herself, extending one hand to Sam who shook it, still-half terrified and Alan nodded a greeting before she resumed her driving.

“Where are we going?” Sam asked and Quorra laughed.

“Patience, SamFlynn,” she said cryptically before shooting a quick look back at the fourth person in the vehicle. “User Richard-”

“Actually it's Alan Bradley,” Alan had forgotten that he had told Tron who he really was not not anyone else. Almost all the programs on the Grid probably knew him as Richard Mackey instead of Alan Bradley. “And yeah, it's Tron, _my_ program. I can vouch for him-”

“AlanBra-”

“I've reprogrammed him enough for him to disobey Clu's orders and put together some of his more basic command lines, but I need somewhere to do a complete defrag of his ruined code. If you want to, you can drop me off somewhere other than where you had planned to take us, Quorra,” he could see the mistrust evident in the program's face and eyes as she frowned at Tron, well, more like Rinzler with his still angry-orange-red lines and the barest hint of white along those edges. He could see the same slight mistrust in Sam's eyes, but he looked more shocked than anything to find out that Tron was the program that had been introduced as Rinzler and had soundly toyed and beaten him in the disc wars arena. Alan knew that Sam had grown up idolizing the supposedly-made-up characters Flynn had pitched to ENCOM for the Tron game, turning Tron into a hero of sorts with his action figures.

He was still dealing with his own shock of finding out that his program had been so corrupted and changed into such a mindless drone by Clu, but like he had with everything that was not in the immediate present, he pushed it to the side. It was something he would deal with later. Later when there was a safe haven, maybe two or three fingers of scotch in his hand...though he supposed the Grid and programs didn't really exactly know anything about alcohol.

“I'm sure...” Sam trailed off, looking between him and Quorra who had a slightly pinched expression on her face before she nodded once to herself as if coming to a decision and shifted gears, speeding the four-wheeler up.

“It has been many cycles since Tron has been mentioned in a somewhat positive light,” she replied lightly, but her expression spoke thus and both Alan and Sam glanced at each other, realizing that Tron had a very incongruous history, maybe even involving Quorra who had rescued them. “I accept your command for now, Alan-One.”

He was about to ask her how did she know his actual username when she suddenly rezzed her helmet back into place, cutting off all conversation. The message was clear that she was not happy, but would accept the charge for now. Alan sat back in his seat and glanced at Tron who was silent through the whole exchange, having not even moved. He would have thought his program crashed except for the continuous stuttering sound.

Minutes, milicycles, nanocycles, whatever was used to tell time here in the Grid, passed and Quorra drove them into a small garage where the car was parked and led them silently to an elevator that took them upwards into a space that Alan found could almost be from the set of _2001: A Space Odyssey_. She disengaged her helmet and held up a hand for them to wait while she approached a figure sitting in the middle of the room, clearly in meditation.

“You're back,” the figure did not move, did not look back, but Alan suddenly found that he could not breathe. He heard the familiar rasp; the youthful joviality that was present with Clu was lacking here, and weariness that lined the quiet tone. There was no mistaking it though.

They had found Kevin Flynn.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured since Tron's so good a combatant and a security program, it's not only due to coding by Alan, it's a testament to Alan's own life. I based Alan's outside lifestyle on my uncle who lives in SoCal and used to compete professionally in ultimate frisbee and is now wrecking the disc golf tournaments around the world and is about Alan's age too.


	3. Scenario 3 (Tron: Redemption Scenario 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tron enters the real world. Dark fic.

_Scenario 3 [Tron: Redemption Scenario 1]_

 

If Tron allowed himself the process, the  _thought_ , that maybe, just maybe, Clu had been right in the long run, then would things have changed? Or would they have been the same? The Isos certainly processed and calculated the many cycles under Clu's regime and came to their own conclusions. There was the calculation of peace, of rebirth, of growth once more for the system so fragmented by Clu, embraced once more by the rezzing of Kevin Flynn and the arrival of new Users.

Flynn's rebirth in the Grid was heralded as an upgrade, that Clu's regime had finally fallen. But Flynn was no more than a sys admin program, no longer a User when the data shards and memory files uploaded into the Sea of Simulation and a back-up copy. His last memory when he had first rezzed back into existence was that of the aerial battle above the Sea, of Tron ramming his lightjet into Clu's and allowing them to escape. It was his son, SamFlynn, and the Iso-turned-User Quorra who explained what had happened and what he was now. Tron remembered Flynn taking in the news that he would never be able to leave the Grid rather well, a quick joke aside as to whether he could be the Master Control Program in this Grid.

Tron had mirrored his dark humor then and added that at least he was not a spinning column of red and was able to freely move around, but he could clearly see that Flynn was somewhat devastated by the news. However, it seemed the cycles of exile treated his friend well as he had made the best use of it and revealed that Tron's own User, Alan-One always had sys admin access; the plan was to one day share it with Flynn before he was initially trapped.

Now, many cycles since the event, the Isos were populating again, those whose discs and memory files were not corrupted had been restored by the Sea. The Sea itself had also brought forth new Isos – and the usual gridbugs that came along with such instability – but Tron knew it well enough by now and executed his duties as the protector of the Grid once more. But somewhere along the line, he wondered if the Isos who had not been derezzed during Clu's purge, and instead had gone into hiding, had begun to corrupt the system.

The Isos had begun to dominate the system, installing a class system that enabled them to weed out the programs who had basic functions and had been imported into the system, and the Isos themselves. Their claim was not of Clu's perfect utopia, but an insurance against a creation of a program like Clu to do such a thing once more. There were rumors of dissent, of fear mongering that it was the Users' who had created the purge in the first place, created Clu without outright stating it was Flynn's fault. Many cycles passed and though Tron had kept the peace between the two factions once more, it was not enough.

It was another failure.

Because the Isos themselves begun to retaliate against the Users, against their interference and what they perceived to be deities who preyed upon the hapless, who were cruel, selfish, and subjected to whims of fancy. They spread the vicious rumor that any User on the Grid would end up creating a master program like Clu once more and they would not fall for such tyranny again. And so Tron saw as Isos shunned each User that had logged on to explore the Grid, to talk to Flynn or even to check on their own programs imported in as well as friendlier Isos.

And now he wondered if Clu was correct in a very twisted sense; to nip the problem in the bud. Because nothing could have prepared him for the utter corruption of the Isomorphic Algorithms as they wrecked havoc and chaos on the Grid – destabilizing it because of their unknown status, of their rogue element. Order versus Chaos.

This was not the Grid he had been imported into to protect. Not anymore.

Tron steadied himself as another tremor shook the unstable system. He looked up to see the scattering of rocks and debris falling around him as he peered out from the corner he had been masking his signature in. Four Isos were standing guard by the glowing ribbon of light that was the single lone I/O portal left that had not been closed by the Users outside to prevent any Isos from escaping the Grid.

That had been at least five-hundred cycles ago – when Flynn had ordered Alan-One to close all portals and start a complete memory wipe of the Grid, to de-magnetize and destroy the Grid itself because everything had become so corrupted. Flynn ordered Alan-One to remove it from ENCOM's servers, even though it was partitioned and protected by several firewalls. Tron knew, because he had been given upgrades and was one of those firewalls within his security programming suite. He knew his counterparts were fighting a fierce fight against the Isos since he had shifted his duties to protecting Flynn.

Only fifty-cycles ago had the tremors started, the fluctuations of power and integrity nearly making Tron lose all sense before he had stabilized and went to find Flynn. Since the Isos had become more radical, Tron had spent more time protecting Flynn and following him everywhere as his bodyguard. It also did not help that the Isos saw his status as an imported,  _old_ program; unfit to patrol what they deemed  _their_ Grid.

He had found Flynn, but the Isos captured them and took Flynn away. Tron escaped, and traced Flynn, using the remnants of his Rinzler programming to enhance the trace, and found out that he was being held at the last remaining I/O port. He knew the Isos were trying to force Flynn to communicate with whomever was on the other end I/O port to stop the collapse of the Grid – to make them value Flynn's life in his digitized space over the complete destruction of the Grid.

And there was no way Tron was going to allow that. Not while he was still in a status to fight or had coherency in his processes. He fought for the Users. While Flynn was technically a program, he was still Tron's friend and an ex-User. His own status and functionality was not much of a use now, but if there was ever a breath of life – a very User term, but apt nonetheless in this case – then he would fight for Flynn to ensure that he would be able to escape or be loaded onto a flashdrive and transported elsewhere, safe, away from all of this.

Four guards...and one Iso holding Flynn pinned to the ground near the shimmering portal. Tron breathed out quietly as he steadied his processes and unhooked his disc from its mount. He kept his other hand against the pillar, his masking subroutine making him invisible to all the other patrols, Isos, and any scanners in the area. It was ironic, really, his original gift from Ophelia, enhanced, upgraded by her when he had escaped to find Flynn, her final gift to him before she completely wiped from the system, her disc destroyed. The masking subroutine she had given him was able to be used against her own kind.

“Tell them!” he heard the Iso holding Flynn screech and realized that it was Giles of all programs. Tron always had his suspicions of Giles, even before Clu decided the Isos were a threat. The program's radicalism was always a hotbed of controversy and of coding that threatened to destabilize the peace and integrity of the Grid. But Tron had not acted because of Ophelia's wishes, because he believed she saw something in him, something to hold him back. But with Ophelia gone for the final time...

“You think me little of a _threat_?!” Giles shook Flynn a little and Tron tensed as he heard his old friend wheeze out a laugh.

“There's _nothing_ you can't do to me that hasn't already been done, Giles,” Flynn laughed again, “I've already given the directive to the Users hundreds of cycles ago. There's nothing you can do but just die, derezz. No master key, nothing-” He suddenly grunted and Tron saw him flinching away from a backhand by Giles, “-Nothing to make you human-”

Flynn grunted again, and this time Tron saw data shards spill before his friend leaned forward, revealing a broken nose and blue-white shards of data dripping across the lower half of his face. He gritted his teeth, his eyes darting to the four other Isos on guard, surrounding Flynn-

“AlanBradley! SamFlynn! I know you can hear us, perhaps even _see_ us! I will derezz your Flynn here if you do not halt the destruction of the Grid and import us into a new Grid, a new life!” Giles sounded confident, but there was a tinge of madness in his voice, a desperation that Tron had not caught before. “Surely you are not as cruel as to allow Flynn to die in such a way-”

Another violent tremor shook the area and Tron made his move. He pushed away from the column, deactivating the subroutine and launched himself at the first guard, kicking him away before throwing his disc at another one. The Iso screamed and shattered into data shards as Tron twisted and ducked under a punch before lunging forward, catching and twisting the neck of another guard. He reached up and caught his disc, instantly bisecting it into two before striking with quick strikes and slammed one into the third guard before turning and plunging his other disc into the head of the guard he had kicked away.

He felt the sudden twist of code for reinforcements through his semi-enhanced Iso-layered programming - another gift from Ophelia for them to better communicate many cycles ago - and knew that Giles had called for reinforcements.

“Tron...” Flynn whispered as he stood and faced Giles, discs held loosely in his hands.

“You escaped,” Giles said flatly as he kept his grip on Flynn's arm and half pulled him forward as a shield of sorts. “I knew Ophelia was too soft, too _in love_ ,” he sneered the User term his voice dripping with jealousy, “with you. You killed her once and she still finds it in her programming to forgive you. That will have to be rectified once I'm done here.”

“She is no more, Giles,” Tron replied softly and saw the spark of grief, of unrequited adoration and fierce affection, pass through the program's code before it was masked under layers and layers of subroutine, “disc and all. Let Flynn go. Your quarrel for all these cycles was with me, not with the Users-”

“ _It_ is _with the Users because_ he _said we were the future_! Were we not to change the future?! We were not to change the Users' world completely?!” Giles screamed, and Tron saw Flynn grimace at the grip on his arm. He tightened his grip on his disc and held one up, his expression grim as he tilted his head in warning.

“Let Flynn go,” he repeated, “I will not allow you to harm any User or conquer their world by entering it. If you are their future, prove it! Prove that you can be as compassionate as they are, that you do not seek the destruction, the expansion of the Grid like _viruses_!”

“They are _killing_ us! They are derezzing us!” Giles shouted and pointed at more falling rocks and code as another violent tremor rocked the area. 

But unlike the tremors earlier, this one did not stop and Tron wavered, nearly falling to his knees as he tried to ride it out. “Then it is because we deserve it! Because  _you_ allowed it to happen!” he shouted back crouching to keep his balance, “accept your fate like we have! Enslaving programs, a forced caste system of superiority, you are no better than Clu!”

That was the breaking point for Giles as he suddenly threw Flynn to the side and launched himself at Tron, a wordless incoherent yell on his lips and Tron met his discs with his own in a clash of buzzing and hissing sounds. “Go Flynn!” he shouted, sparing a quick look at the shocked program, “tell Alan-One to plug in the portable drive! Get out of here!”

He punched Giles in the face with a disc, leaving a slash down the side of his face before gritting his teeth as Giles' disc scraped a fiery line of pain down his chest. He leaped back, glancing down to see that the damage was mildly superficial, but there was still datashards dripping from the wound. Giles opened his mouth and an electronic  _scream_ blasted forth, shaking the air around them, sounding nothing like what any program could do and Tron realized what had happened all those cycles ago. Leto's corruption and attempt to revive Ariadne as some hybrid gridbug queen had affected Giles too.

The program's normally luminescent eyes turned a horrible electronic red and his arms started to crackle like a gridbug's his disc buzzing and discharging sparks everywhere. And then just as suddenly Giles disappeared. Tron only had the warning of his passive systems before he suddenly found himself slammed heavily onto the ground, pain filtered through every single sense. He barely brought a disc up in time to prevent his head from being chopped off and screamed as something stabbed into his leg. Giles, not wholly program, nor wholly gridbug stared down at him, clawing at him.

He kicked at the program, biting his lip at the wash of pain as the Iso-gridbug hybrid twisted away from his attack and rolled to his feet. He disappeared from his view again, moving at such a fast processing rate that Tron only had another passive warning before he blocked two more blows and rolled to his feet, crouching unsteadily on his remaining uninjured leg as the other bled datashards. He had unlocked every single upgrade, every single process within him as soon as Giles had changed form, but was hard pressed to keep up with the Iso. He knew he was at a disadvantage, and even his old codes that Alan-One had thoughtfully written into him were not enough to keep up with the modern, corrupted coding that Giles had.

Even with the Rinzler part of him activated, he could only rely on his passive sensors to block the blows, flipping, twisting, and ducking under the fierce attack Giles was throwing at him. He felt himself being slammed into the catwalks, into the ground, into pillars several times before he managed to free himself again. There was only one way to end this, as he barely twisted out of the way of several elongated arms and spats of electric bursts. He could feel his command lines slowing, his processes overclocking in such a short time as they tried to keep up with the faster moving Iso. He was already bleeding datashards everywhere and his leg wound was hindering him.

Locking his discs together, he drew out a baton from his leg and activated the coil towards Giles. The program cackled madly and grabbed at the length of line before yanking him towards him and Tron flew towards him, using the momentum generated to aim his disc-

“You will not derezz me like that, Tron!” Giles shouted, his voice horribly distorted behind the screams of his gridbug programming.

Tron ignored him and suddenly altered his disc's aim by slamming it into the catwalk they were on and turned his body, grunting as his arm caught the weight of Giles as he launched himself into the air, releasing his disc to hurl towards the jagged, roiling Sea of Simulation below-

He heard Giles scream as he flew into the air above Tron, the line still held between them, trying to extend his arms in a purchase to get back onto the catwalk-

Saw him level and fall below him just as he released the baton, screaming all the way as he slammed into the Sea and disappeared; just as he fell too-

-and suddenly had his downward momentum arrested as he looked up to see Flynn grabbing onto him with both hands, lying flat on the catwalk. “I got you!”

“Flynn!” he was grateful for Flynn as he felt himself being pulled up, “you're-”

He suddenly choked as he felt something rip at him, transferring  _into_ him from Flynn before his friend pulled him up and he knelt on all fours, trying to catch his breath. He looked over to Flynn, opening his mouth at the sudden intrusion, of something being  _planted_ into his code. The last time that had happened, Alan-One's reprogramming and erasure of Clu's programming not withstanding, it had been  _Clu_ who had done such a thing. “W-What...”

“Sorry, Tron,” Flynn smiled sadly, “it's the only way I was able to transfer the code before everything went shit to bed.”

“What?” Tron did not exactly understand what Flynn was saying, but then noticed his friend was holding onto the broken halves of a disc...his personal disc.

“Bradley wanted me to share this with you before everything ended, to make sure that we both got out of here, and maybe even Ophelia if she was still alive,” Flynn glanced behind him and Tron saw multiple pinpoints of lights racing towards them from the far distance. The Iso reinforcements were coming...

“Flynn...your disc,” Tron absently reached over and picked his own up, holstering it, “it's...broken-”

“Yeah,” Flynn did not look sad, but instead seemed content. “Can't exit the Grid now that I don't exactly have a disc...”

“But-”

“Isos can because their programming is different than our programming. You and I? We need like a boot file of sorts, hence our discs. Alan wrote a code to bring us out of the Grid, but it's reliant on the discs.” Flynn laughed lightly, “Hell, Alan and I don't even know if the code works, he only wrote it when Giles and the Isos were...you know kind of going bonkers... It's supposed to be an escape plan...”

“But a file transfer-”

“Can't risk it Tron, not with an Iso potentially getting onto the USB drive and corrupting the new drive if you or I were on it,” Flynn shook his head before pointing to the still open portal, “this is the only way out, buddy.”

“But-”

“I copied the code into you,” Flynn stood up and helped him up as he hobbled on his good leg. “You're going to be a User, Tron...at least if the code works. If not, you'll probably derezz instantly-”

“Flynn-”

“Tron, I've lived my life long enough. I got a second chance to say goodbye to friends, to family, to people I thought I would never see again. I got to spend time with Sam, with Alan, even with Lora and Jet. I got to spend time with Quorra, and got time to build the Grid I wanted to without any psycho taking it over – well, until now,” Flynn gestured towards the I/O portal. “I have no regrets.”

Tron shook his head, unable to accept the fact that Flynn was not going to leave and made to move towards him, to try to process, calculate,  _think_ of something for him to get out because  _he_ was the program, not Flynn! Flynn was the User, was the friend, was someone who had a life in the User world and he was supposed to protect him! What good was a security program was he if he could not protect Flynn-

“You found my last will and testament, right, all those cycles ago at my hovel?” the corners of Flynn's lips quirked up in a half-smile, “Well, consider this a make-good promise to make you a User, give you a chance for you to start your life over.”

“No...I-”

“Go.”

Tron suddenly found himself shoved towards the I/O port and was about to move towards Flynn again, before he slammed against a painful crackle wall of code – a firewall. He winced and hissed in pain as it pressed against his damaged armor and open wounds and saw that it was Flynn who had put the firewall up, separating the two of them. Just then, another violent tremor shook the area and Tron stumbled, looking up to see the Grid just about to fall apart. There was no more time-

“Flynn!” he shouted as he was forced back even further, the firewall literally pushing him back towards the I/O port. He could see the lights of the Isos growing larger as they landed on the parts of the platform, surrounding Flynn...

“Tron! Tell my son...tell him I love him and that I'm proud of him,” Flynn had also turned to see the surrounding Isos before looking at him before looking back, a wan smile on his lips.

Tron wanted to shout again, but suddenly found himself bathed in the brilliant lights of the I/O port, Flynn's form barely visible as his vision started to white-out-

“Goodbye, old friend,” he thought he heard before all of his sensors overloaded.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was playing around with the plotline of what I wanted to happen in the hypothetical _Tron: Redemption_ story, there was always the thought that Flynn would live, but as a digital program now – backup copies on discs and all that stuff. Then everyone would get their happy ending. Somewhere along that line, this dark!idea kind of ambushed me and decided that I am going to make Tron suffer and earn his sort-of-happy or not so happy ending. What can I say, I'm a sucker for such dark ideas like this one... Plus my headcanon has it that Giles is Lennier to Tron's John Sheridan from _Babylon 5_ (with Ophelia obviously being Delenn) and would not let. it. go.


	4. Scenario 4 (Tron: Redemption Scenario 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alan Bradley finally meets Tron after all this time – and it's not a happy program greeting him from twenty-eight years back.

_Scenario 4_ [ _Tron: Redemption Scenario 2]_

 

Alan Bradley had never met Tron; never met the program he had first created to monitor the MCP in ENCOM's servers. He had only heard the wildly, wonderful – and to his own mind, quite insane – story that Kevin had been babbling about mere hours after he had left him with Lora in ENCOM's laser testing labs. His first thought was that Flynn had utterly lost it when he had found the files and proof he was looking for, but as Kevin kept talking, Alan did what others always succumbed to in the presence of the magnetism and childish exuberance of Kevin Flynn – he started to believe.

He had always had his doubts, but Flynn was an excellent storyteller and it was what ENCOM was banking on, their golden goose, to come up with new ideas and fascinating ways to keep the company in the black. Those stories just became thus, stories, merchandise, and Alan was not exactly a believer anymore – but he was more than that, he became Kevin's sounding board, his best friend, and found himself to quite literally be the only one keeping the peace between the increasingly annoyed ENCOM Board and Flynn himself.

Then Kevin disappeared and the belief in Kevin's ideals started to fade; replaced by hurt and betrayal. But Alan refused to believe what everyone else was whispering – that Kevin had run away. He knew that if he bowed to those ideas, those thoughts and whispers, then a very young boy who idolized his father would be irrevocably broken. And so Alan hoped, wished, and tried to believe. He hoped, wished, and believed through the various CEOs and direction ENCOM had gone through, had made deals with devils, scrounged, did everything in his power to keep his position in ENCOM, to ensure that Kevin Flynn's legacy would still be there – still waiting for his best friend to return. “ _Hey Alan (hey kiddo), lost track of time...”_ Waited for those words to come true.

The Grid became more than a distant memory as he kept his hopes up for Kevin himself, for his return, but a very small part of him never forgot the wild, outlandish tale Kevin spun for him and Lora after he had found proof of Dillinger's activities; of meeting Tron, meeting Yori, and other programs created by the ENCOM programmers. He still thought it was probably something Kevin – in all of his childish exuberance – still believed, a part of him that was Peter Pan and did not want to grow up. Laughed it off as just that, stories. Tron was a good program, one of the best he had created in all of his years coding. Just a program that he let Kevin borrow.

Tron was not real, right?

The Grid was not real, right?

A little over twenty-eight years since he had met and become lifelong friends with Kevin Flynn, Alan Bradley found himself to be very, very wrong about the Grid...and just about everything he had dismissed from Kevin's stories. Because all of it was real.

Because in front of him, was Tron.

Here was his program that Kevin had asked one day to move from ENCOM to his own personal computer to run a few tests or what have you. Alan was okay with it, the MCP having been wiped clean from the servers so it was no longer a plague upon the system. Here was Tron and Alan  _finally_ understood why Kevin always had that childish exuberance, why he was so protective of his Grid, why it explained everything.

Because Alan felt the same thing when he stared at his own creation. And could not help but feel a tight anger that lashed through him, staring at how  _broken_ , how defragmented his own program had become under Clu's brutal hacking and destruction of code. The same protective instinct he had when his flesh-and-blood son, Jet, had been born reared its head as he stared at Tron. Granted, his program was wearing his young, early thirty-something face – which was a little disconcerting – but Alan still felt like Tron was family. And he was appalled at how complete Kevin's own digital “son” Clu had destroyed his creation.

“Alan-One?” Alan blinked and jumped a little in surprise as he glanced up to see Tron –  _his_ program – staring at him, having stopped in the middle of his quiet narrative.

“Nothing,” Alan forced a smile on to his face as he realized he had been all but glaring at the projection of Tron's discs that showed the angry lines of red, occasionally dotted with blue, tangled up with lines of red and blue that was generally a mess. He mentally replayed what his program had been saying quickly through his head and gestured with his chin for him to continue, “You were saying about the Isos and trying to stop the bombing of the rally?”

“Yes, uh...” Tron looked like he was about to start again before falling silent. Alan glanced up from where he sat, cross legged with Tron's two discs in front of him.

When they had found Tron washed up upon the shores of the Sea of Simulation, he had been barely responsive, his white lights fading in and out before brightening as they got closer. He had registered as an anomaly on the light runner that had been cobbled together by Sam's own skills at programming when they had first entered the Grid. Quorra had some design input, making it similar to a four-seat sedan like the outside world, but it was mostly Sam who created it before they had entered the portal and opened the file inside.

The Grid was a complete and utter mess, the platform they had arrived on barely holding all of them and the light runner. Alan had immediately and instinctively opened up a command line and rebuilt the platform so it was more stable before they had explored the place. Discs were strewn everywhere, some floating on the surface of the Sea of Simulation, others by wreckage of what looked like light flyers and the remnants of Clu's carrier. Data bits of blue, white, green, red, and orange littered the area too, destroyed programs when Kevin Flynn had reintergrated Clu with him and was destroyed. Surprisingly, they had found Quorra's original disc, having miraculously landed near the open portal after everything.

For a long moment, the three of them had thought that the Grid itself was utterly destroyed, with no hope of their original goal, before the faint registration of the edges of the Sea of Simulation made them head towards it. The destruction of the carrier and area surrounding the portal was enough for the light runner to barely make boosting hops from one floating debris to another without falling into the Sea itself, but they had made it to land as several pieces dipped into the Sea, ensuring that no other program would be able to trace their path back to the open portal. There had been a moment where Alan had sensed something that felt familiar, almost like himself, and had picked up a reddish looking disc that had been floating on the surface of the Sea before they continued on.

On the edges of the Sea, they had found the city still intact in the far distance, but had also found Tron. Sam and Quorra had feared that Tron was still Rinzler and had been wary, but when the security program had finally awakened, he had proved that he was not Clu's lackey and instead was an ally. That was when Alan learned that he had been holding onto one of the two discs Tron carried with him as Rinzler. Tron's other disc had been attached to his back, but it was winking in and out, a clear sign that there was something wrong with it, glitches in programming. His program had moved a little sluggishly, seemingly still trying to shake off the remnants of Clu's rectification, but seemingly failing to do so.

Which ended up with him sitting cross legged in what had been Flynn's hovel for the last twenty-something years or so outside in the real world. They had all come here to see if there was answers to their original quest – to potentially restore Kevin Flynn to life. So far, nothing had been found, but Sam wanted to comb through the code his father had built within the hovel carefully and so the rest of them had made themselves at home. At least Quorra, Sam, and Alan did.

Tron was another story...

Alan sighed and ran a hand through his hair, feeling his age more so than ever. He was only glad that his clothes decided to manifest themselves as comfortable garb instead of the seemingly constricting though pretty neat-looking bodysuits of light that Sam, Quorra, and Tron wore. “Sam and Quorra told me a lot of what's happened, enough for me to get the general gist of it, but I want to hear it from you,” he met his program's hesitant look with a square gaze of his own and saw Tron look to the side, a frown curling his lips.

“What...more is there to say, Alan-One?” Tron looked miserable, “none of it mattered in the end...I failed...”

Alan pursed his lips and looked down at the discs in front of him for a moment, resisting the urge to suddenly get up, find some remnant of Clu – even if it was just bits of data – and  _strangle_ the program. He shook his head, “No...” Looking up, he stared at Tron before the program finally turned to look back at him. “No,” he repeated, “the failure isn't yours Tron. It's mine.”

“But Alan-One-”

“User error,” the corner of his lips quirked up in a crooked smile, “it comes down to User error. You did what you were programmed to do, what you've always done. You were programmed to-”

“-Protect the citizens of the Grid from any and all threats, not to become one of them,” Tron's gaze narrowed a little, his expression mulishly stubborn to the point that Alan wanted to laugh in joy at how much like  _himself_ he saw in his program, but refrained from doing so.

“Programmed as a  _security_ program,” he continued as if Tron had not spoken, “and you tried to protect the threat of the Grid that was Clu. It's my own fault that I didn't believe Flynn enough to give you the upgrades you needed to combat something like Clu. It's Flynn's fault for not realizing how big of a threat Clu was. Don't blame yourself for something that could have been reigned in if your Users, hell even your Creator, should have been more aware of.”

“But-”

“Tron,” Alan held up a hand to stop him from speaking, “it's not your fault. All you can do now is learn from this, added to your programming like you always have, and grow from it. I created you to learn, and watch and for that, for everything you've done, you have been admirable in all respects. From what you've told me so far, you've all but ignored everyone's opinion of you, even respected those opinions of what they think you've done right or wrong. You've adhered to your programming and kept the citizens of the Grid safe as much as possible given the circumstances. You tried to keep peace when the others declared it to be none and you fought for that peace. You never gave up.”

He noticed that Tron made an abortive movement to something on his left shoulder before he hesitated and slowly withdrew a small diskette. “I...Flynn gave me this...from you...” there was an almost child-like hesitation as Tron offered it to him and Alan reached out and took it, activating it with a flick of the switch.

_“Hello Tron. Flynn told me that you’ve been doing wonderful things in the new system he’s built. I don’t know exactly what, but the stories he tells are pretty interesting at times...”_

Alan smiled faintly at the image of himself, so very young then, still so full of doubts and had not known what he was recording except for Kevin's prompt of 'your program's kind of depressed, cheer it up, man!' He flicked it off, remembering the words he had spoken so long ago, a side effect of his eidetic memory. He handed the diskette back to Tron who took it and rubbed it in between his fingers as if it was something sacred, and oddly like a safety blanket of sorts. “You've kept it on you all this time.”

Tron blinked and nodded slowly, “...Even as Rinzler...”

“There's your answer then,” he smiled gently at his program who looked at him a little confused. He wanted to tell him, but realized that Tron would be for the better if he figured out the answer on his own and instead reassured him. “When we get into the city, there will be programs blaming you, but just know that  _I_ don't blame you. I blame myself, that I wasn't there to help, that I wasn't there-” he stuttered for a brief moment before repeating himself. “That I wasn't there.”  _For you_ ... _for my son_ .

Alan knew he was a terrible father, maybe worse than Flynn. Whereas Flynn had the excuse of being missing in the Grid with no sign or trace of him, Alan had no such excuse. Though he and Lora made their relationship work with the long distance between California and Washington D.C., he had no excuse to miss many of Jethro's moments growing up, too consumed with ENCOM, with keeping the company on the right track. Too many meetings and not enough birthday parties, holidays, even vacation trips. He had no excuse to try to foster Sam after his grandfather died and his grandmother could not take care of one rambunctious twelve-year-old. He knew Jet resented that, resented Sam intruding into his life and taking up time with his father when he had none. The two had been friends, but had grown apart after Alan had tried to foster parent Sam. Even Lora had noticed, but had tried her best to explain it to Jet.

And as much as he wanted to call Tron his own son, his very own program, he knew he could not say those words without sounding like a complete hypocrite. He and Jet had begun to repair their relationship after Jet had entered college, but even now Alan knew it was still fraught with hurt feelings and a lost childhood. He was only grateful that Jet had actually come to help them with this current problem and was monitoring things from the outside with Lora.

Tron stopped fidgeting with the diskette and placed it back in its hiding spot, absently pressing it to ensure that it was still there. He nodded slowly again, seemingly accepting his words, but Alan could tell his actions as Rinzler and guilt for what he had done still weighed upon him. He sighed inwardly, at least Tron now knew that his own Creator forgave him and did not blame him. It was up to Tron to realize it for himself, but he could at least help the process along.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the happier version of what my muses came up with for _Tron: Redemption_ before they did the whole dark fic idea. It can be considered directly after the events of _Tron: Adagio_ when Sam, Quorra, and Alan end up in the Grid and find Tron on the shore of the Sea of Simulation.


End file.
